


Zinc

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Dom/sub, Dominance, Leashes, M/M, Mild Painplay, PWP, Puppy Play, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor enjoys Mairon’s Eldar form, warped with a wolf’s touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zinc

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: **Warning** this is pretty rough and kinky. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He throws the ball at a controlled angle, far enough to stretch the moment but close enough to keep Mairon easily in his sights. Mairon watches the red circle hit the stone floor and roll into the crimson carpet stretched down the middle of the throne room, halting there. Then he turns on all fours, his fluffy silver tail flicking out of the way. It gives Melkor the perfect few of his pert bottom, his round cheeks stretching as his knee extends, revealing the pink crevice between and the dot of his puckered hole. He crawls forward with his back arched and a selective grace: always a master of show. 

No one else has the privilege of seeing him this way. Not even Aulë, who used Mairon for all the wrong things, ever shared this delight. Mairon submits himself solely to Melkor, because he revels in _dominance_ , and no one can feed him that like Melkor can. Melkor lounges back in his throne, eyeing the view that crawls so slowly before him. 

Mairon is a star. He wriggles his rear as he walks, deliberately swaying from side to side more than he needs, so that his tight balls and hanging cock bob between his creamy thighs. His gold-orange hair, thickly braided, drapes over one shoulder, parting for the tipped ears that rise from his head, like the puppies of the wolves he breeds. His shapeshifting has blossomed under Melkor’s guidance, and now he can slip to states between creatures, any configuration he likes, best used when becoming his master’s _pet_. Only the ears and tail mark him as the dog he is: the rest of his body remains that of the Eldar, but twisted into erotic sin, made specially for Melkor to defile. Every part of him is beautiful, more so in his mockery. The golden collar around his neck, embedded with black jewels, is the pinnacle: a flawless creation of Mairon himself. His silver chain trails beneath him as he moves, clipped to his collar like a leash. Its rattling echoes through the high-ceilinged halls. When Mairon reaches the ball, he lowers down to catch it in his mouth, ass raised in the air. 

He wanders back like he came, fingers curled in like paws, but still the delicate digits of Elves. His teeth, at least the two on either side of his incisors, are pointed like an animal. His eyes are heavy-lidded, languid and pretty. When he reaches Melkor’s feet, he drops the ball between them, then ducks to nudge it forward with his nose. His tail wags in the air to show his devotion, and he even detours to lick at one of Melkor’s boots while he waits for his master’s response. Though Melkor prefers the touch of Mairon’s spongy tongue on his skin, where he can feel it, he enjoys the sight of it, the show of subservience, and allows Mairon to make both boots shine. 

Finally, Melkor coos, “Good boy.” Mairon’s tails and ears perk sharply. His head lifts up, eyes hopeful, tongue hanging out and panting like a beast. Melkor leans forward and draws off one gauntlet, tossing it aside, so he can run his blackened fingers through Mairon’s hair. Mairon croons at the touch, nuzzling up into Melkor’s hand and purring almost subconsciously: he always thrives under attention. 

For a time, Melkor simply pets him, stroking him between his ears and scratching beneath them, dragging hard nails across Mairon’s scalp before smoothing back over it. Melkor revels in how _tiny_ Mairon is, almost half his size, lithe and fragile in this form, like the flimsy Eldar. He has far more underneath—he’s a _Maia_ , but that’s nothing to a _Vala_. He’s merely a vassal. He’s the greatest of all of them, the strongest of Aulë’s selection, but he bends before his master like a loyal hound, and Melkor rewards him for it with one debauched fantasy after another. 

Drifting his hand down Mairon’s cheek, Melkor cups Mairon’s chin, tilting it up to look at him. Mairon’s eyes close like he isn’t worthy. It highlights the game and gives Melkor a spark of pride: he’s eternally pleased to have trapped such a lovely creature. Melkor runs just that much lower to wrap his thick fingers around Mairon’s throat, and he squeezes enough to make Mairon _gasp_. Then Melkor sends forth a surge of _power_ , a rushing spark through his fingertips that nearly sears Mairon’s flesh. Mairon cries out in utter _ecstasy_ , before swaying and wilting, left to shudder. Whimpering, he nuzzles forward into Melkor’s knees: his way, in this play of theirs, to beg for _more_.

Melkor takes pity on him. Taking the leash, Melkor tugs his little puppy up by it, and Mairon scrambles into his lap, all soft, bare skin on clinking metal and darkened leather. Mairon perches on Melkor’s legs, his thighs spreading open and his knees digging into the iron of the throne. His cock, plump and pink, juts stiffly out between. His forehead barely comes up to Melkor’s chin. While Mairon’s tail lazily wags, Melkor takes hold of Mairon’s ass, fingers completely curling around both cheeks. He squeezes them with all his might, forcing Mairon to whine and buck into him. Then he runs his blunt fingertips down Mairon’s crack and kneads Mairon while he talks, drawling, “How debauched Aulë’s greatest servant has become.”

“I am not his,” Mairon hisses, only to hunch his shoulders apologetically and correct, “I am _yours_ , Master.” Looking up to bite his bottom lip, so enticing in his sin, he purrs, “And I flourish in debauchery.”

Melkor can’t help but smirk. Truer words have never been spoken. Mairon dips his head in a semi-bow and licks his tongue over the armour of Melkor’s broad chest, murmuring sweetly, “I like being dirty, naughty.” He laps away like a dog but moans like a slave, “I like being _ruined_ at your feet.” Once, he only sought _perfection_ , strength and might. But now he’s learned to drink in Melkor’s victory, and his master’s dominance sustains his own. It took time to corrupt him, but now he’s as dark as Melkor could devise, and it’s made him more beautiful than ever.

He ends in a luxurious sigh, “I love returning from slaying thousands of my master’s enemies to lie beneath him and licks his feet, and I would wish for no other life than the merciless control with which my master binds me.” He finishes his trail of licks up Melkor’s chest to kiss beneath Melkor’s chin, and Melkor thrusts a sudden finger into his tight hole for reward. 

“I wish I could breed you,” Melkor chuckles, while he shoves in to the knuckle and his other hand pets down the sensuous arc of Mairon’s back. Melkor squirms on his finger, face awash in _pain_ , but it’s a sting that he adores. He lifts when he can, pushing back down, moving to fuck himself on the single digit, his cock bouncing to slap against his stomach. “I would be lucky to have many more eager wolf pups to do my bidding.”

Pouting through his torture, Mairon whines, “I am not enough?” His eyes scowl, but his lips betray him: never mad at his master. Melkor grins and adds a second finger, dry and firm. Mairon shudders, trying to become wet, though it’s more than his form-shifting can truly provide. He manages only some moisture, tenderizing the insides of his ass, though it’s hardly adequate for the roughness with which he’s taken. On other occasions, Melkor would have him bend and lick his own hole, but Melkor is already too far to his own completion and doesn’t want to spare the patience. Mairon won’t complain: he never does. 

Without answering, Melkor channels his own abilities into his crotch, the fastening of the armour there sliding apart. His thick cock, already so precariously bound, springs free the second it has any leeway. It juts up between his legs and Mairon’s stomach, nearly as tall as Mairon’s arm and far wider, jet-black and rippled with veins. Mairon stares at it in complete awe, like he always does, and whimpers, ducking down before Melkor can bid anything else. Mairon’s spongy tongue runs straight over the head, his hands clamping at the base, and he spreads his lips as wide as his jaw will allow. The wet heat of his mouth is instantly welcome. Even shifting his form to dislocate it, he can’t take the whole thing without dropping the Eldar pretense entirely, so he simply suckles at the tip. One hand rises to draw back Melkor’s foreskin, lubricated in Mairon’s leaking spit, and Mairon wriggles his tongue along the slit. He begins to stroke and suck at it with everything he has, worshiping it, but that isn’t how Melkor wanted to take his puppy today. He orders instead, “Ride it, pet.”

When Mairon withdraws, there’s sadness in his eyes for half a moment, his spit draping from his tongue to the tip and his eyes glued to it, like he can’t _stand_ to have his throat empty of it. But then he lifts up on his knees and regains his hungry grin. His hole is nowhere near wide enough, but Melkor will force it so. Mairon sits above it and puts his tiny hands on Melkor’s shoulders, looking down as he presses his rear to Melkor’s sturdy cock. 

The first time Mairon tries to push down, Melkor’s cock slips away, and Melkor chuckles, Mairon colouring in embarrassment. Then he locks one hand around it, holding it still, and tries again, his face scrunching up as he _forces_ himself to take it. It takes much effort to come down enough for the tip to pop inside, and that first push alone is bliss for Melkor. He squeezes Mairon’s ass firm enough to leave bruises, then retires his arms to the armrests of his throne. Mairon wriggles, gasping and withdrawing his hand to cutely cover his mouth, while Melkor groans and settles back. Marion’s eyebrows are knit together in clear pain, his eyes hazy and perhaps watering around the edges, cheeks red. When he takes too long to move, Melkor tugs hard at his braid in warning. Mairon gasps and nods, trying to obey. He pushes down as best he can, but he has to stop every little bit to shudder and gasp. If he were truly an Eldar, he might bleed to death. Instead, he tries to stretch his channel to house his master’s cock, but Melkor’s power dwarves and numbs his own, dulling it to pathetically weak attempts to flutter open. His ass is so deliciously _tight_ , and Melkor completely fills it, far beyond Mairon’s capacity, until he can feel Mairon trying to rearrange his organs, push his stomach up, to hold more of Melkor’s enormous shaft. 

When Mairon gets three quarters of the way down, Melkor tires of the wait. He grabs Mairon’s hips and _slams_ Mairon down, wracking out a shriek that booms through the hall. Marion’s ears flatten against his head, his tail jolting. Melkor can feel every muscle in Mairon’s body tense, and it’s _delicious_.

He gives Mairon a moment to adjust, something he would do for no other, and Mairon trembles in place, holding onto himself. The pain seems to overtake him, but Melkor watches it subside, ebb into something else, as Mairon slowly transforms his body to sheath his master’s sword. Finally, he gasps and nods, leaning forward to press his forehead against Melkor’s armour and cling to Melkor’s shoulders. Melkor pets once through his hair, cooing again, “My good, sweet puppy.” 

Somehow, Mairon manages to rasp, “Only good for you, Master.”

Melkor laughs once and thrusts his hips up, tossing Mairon up. Mairon _screams_ , falling right back down to a choking noise that has Melkor laughing again, and he bids, “Ride me, pet. I wish to feel your want for your master.”

Mairon obeys, like he always does. He lifts on trembling thighs, pulling himself up half with his arms, and falls back down, to Melkor’s instant pleasure and Mairon’s greedy moan. The next is the same, and the one after, the impossibly tightness and cloying heat of Mairon’s ass far better than anything the others covet in Valinor. The pressure is perfection, the velvet softness of Mairon’s shuddering walls exquisite. Mairon rides him with abandon, faster and faster and brutally hard, not sparing himself in the slightest. He impales himself on Melkor’s cock and moans more and more for it, giving in again to the feeling of being completely _filled_ , which no other could give him. But Melkor sweetens it even more. When he deems Mairon good enough, he clutches Mairon’s hips and sends another shock of sheer power, channeled right through Mairon’s skin to permeate his body, fill his soul. It runs through him like lightening, scorches him like fire, and Mairon’s eyes fly wide in delight to the point of madness. Another few thrusts, and Melkor gives him another, then another. He begins to zap Mairon again and again, drinking in the sight of Mairon alight in utter ecstasy, bristling with such unbridled joy, heedless to everything but the magic Melkor feeds him. He can barely breathe. He’s consumed. He comes closer to Melkor, falls against Melkor’s chest, and clutches to it like he means to fly straight through the armour and drown himself in his master’s being. 

He tosses his head back when he comes, roaring to shake the mountains, his body alight with his end. His ass spasms frantically around Melkor’s cock. He’s a vision to be beheld, one that has Melkor near his own end, because Mairon is so _beautiful_ and perfect and obedient and _his_. He’s never conquered anything so wondrous or so completely. His own orgasm hits him like a hurricane, and he wrenches forward to grab Mairon’s face and slam it against his own, his giant tongue filling Mairon’s tiny mouth. He bursts in Mairon’s ass, panting all of Mairon’s walls and jerking up into him, filling him with one load after another of boiling-hot seed that squelches sickly along Mairon’s walls and out along his thighs. Melkor soaks him again and again, until all of Mairon’s thighs and insides are drenched in Melkor’s release. 

Then Melkor withdraws, letting Mairon slump and pant and tremble against him. Melkor pets him, riffling his pointed ears back up. Eventually, Mairon drops one hand and runs his slender fingers along the mess at his crotch, then brings it up to his mouth to suck away. Melkor leans back to enjoy it. He watches Mairon lick drop after drop off his hands. When Melkor’s flagging cock starts to become sore in Mairon’s tight confines, he lifts Mairon up, so light in his arms. Mairon gasps and shakes, his hole gaping wide and leaking out. Then Melkor drops him, and Mairon slinks off Melkor’s lap to lean over it, hungrily lapping away at the mess smeared across Melkor’s armour and exposed cock. It wasn’t an order, but Mairon does it with a wagging tail until Melkor’s armour is clean and glistening. Then Mairon looks dizzily up at him, asking with a screamed-raw throat, “Master?”

“Return to our bedchambers,” Melkor announces, waving a hand left of his throne. Mairon pushes unsteadily up to his feet, but he totters, looking dizzy. He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to make the erotic show of submission he usually does at such an order. When he turns, he flinches immediately, and Melkor can still see where his hole is trying vainly to twitch itself tighter. He takes another step, the chain rattling against his stomach. 

On the third step, he gives in, falling towards the ground and transforming mid-way. He becomes a sleek wolf, silver and large, with the golden collar still fixed around his neck to flatten all his fur. He glances back at Melkor and dips his muzzle. 

Then he rushes off. Melkor sits back in his throne, lounging in the afterglow and wondering if he’ll really go question his prisoners as he’d meant to, or simple return to his favourite lieutenant and plunder Mairon’s sweet body again in yet another form.


End file.
